


There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

by maddie_darling



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddie_darling/pseuds/maddie_darling
Summary: Disillusioned with school (and essentially every aspect in his life), Harry struggles to find a reason not to follow Louis, a man he’s just met but is inexplicably drawn to, and his band on their self-made, cross-country tour. This decision ultimately forces Harry out of his comfort zone and, for better or worse, into the arms of his new, eccentric, but usually well-meaning group of friends.





	There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

**Author's Note:**

> i want to give a big thank you to my best friend, diana, for helping my fic become what it is now. this is based off of an idea i've had rolling around in my head for almost three years but had been put on the back burner until now. i'm very excited to finally share it. 
> 
> this story is incredibly self-indulgent and written completely in good fun. i'm not affiliated with one direction in anyway.  
> the title comes from the smiths song of the same name. (pls listen to it because it is the Mood™ of this fic)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm aiming to post a new chapter about once a week. feel free to come talk to me on tumblr in between updates ♡ cutestdevil.tumblr.com

It was 9 pm. The campus and its surrounding area were bustling as the school grounds transformed into the archetypal picture of college nightlife. The warm weather seemed to draw everyone out from their dorm rooms. Freshmen, drunk from whatever pregame they were at, stumbled on the sidewalks, making their way to one of the frat houses hosting a party that night. The more experienced sophomores and juniors wouldn’t be out for another hour, while the seniors-- who at this point couldn’t be bothered with house parties-- waited to head out to the bars for another hour. Even those who were unconstrained by any sort of plan for the night were camped out in the quad on picnic blankets, a song that had gathered too much air time this past summer blasting out of one of their speakers. Despite playing out like a scene John Hughes would direct,  Harry couldn’t be bothered with it. 

He didn’t know where he was going but he knew he couldn’t spend another minute with his roommate in that dorm. The way he was aimlessly wandering made it seem like he had nothing better to do, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Nick had called him earlier, inviting him over to his apartment. 

_ “Alexa and Cara wanted me to confirm that you’re coming tonight.” _

_ “I’ll try to make it, but I already promised my roommate I’d go out with him,” Harry lied.  _

_ “You’re blowing us off for Chris?” Nick asked, like he was turning down dinner with the queen. Like getting to hang out with them was some special privilege you didn’t just blow off.  _

_ “Not blowing you off. I’ll see if I can’t stop in later,” Harry said, knowing full well he wouldn’t.  _

_ “Good, because Kendall was asking about you…”  _

He honestly could go. He  _ should  _ go.  All his friends (a term Harry used loosely), like Alexa and Cara, would be there. He could get tipsy off of jello shots, maybe do a karaoke number or two. He knew in theory he’d have fun. But everything felt so tired and played out by this third round. He’d see Kendall there and spend the night knowing she’s still bitter about whatever non-existent thing that had ended between them freshmen year. Jeff would brag about his internship in LA over a rum and coke, offering Harry advice on starting up his career. That, of course, would just be pity-advice he was giving after Harry would tell him about how he spent his summer at home, working the same job at the bakery he’s had since high school. Ultimately, everyone would catch each other up on their summers, laugh about whatever had been stressing them out at the end of last semester, and give cheers to the new school year. It was the routine they’d had for almost three years. And again, Harry couldn’t be bothered. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that even after two years, they were all essentially the same people they’d been at orientation, a thought that depressed Harry, leaving him feeling stale and stagnant. Or maybe it was the disinterest in his pre-law major, which had felt like a good idea three years ago in highschool. It was a career that had the potential to be filled with purpose and he was contented with the idea that he might be able to do some good. But that purpose had been obscured by trivial homework assignments and classes that focused him on short-sighted goals. Or at least these were the two reasons Harry told himself only to stop from contemplating the other alternative. That it wouldn’t matter who he hung out with, what his major was, or even what school he went to. It was the unnerving idea that maybe this was what was to be expected in life. The goals he set for himself as an idealistic teen were too lofty and unachievable; the feelings he’d hoped to feel were only for characters in films. 

Which is why he could hardly stand his roommate. It wasn’t necessarily Chris’s fault that Harry felt this way. He was a nice enough guy, a criminal justice major, whose most notable goal in life was to work in the local police department. Everything about him was practical, from his intended career to the way he spoke. His friends, devoid of any distinguishable personality, were always around in his and Harry’s shared dorm, which on most days, didn’t really bother him. But tonight, the fact that they seemed honest-to-god excited about going to a party in one of their other friend’s dorm made him irritated. The fact that they could be happy with that, while Harry could hardly feel excited about anything at this goddamn school. These were the kind of people who were subconsciously (because they never allowed themselves to think  _ too _ hard about their lives) okay with peaking in college. They never sought after more.  Maybe it was selfish for Harry to feel like he deserved more than Chris. He craved excitement, like the kinds of scenarios he wrote about in his stories; characters with personality and their exhilarating lives that flowed to match the style of writing. That kind of existence and those kinds of people only seemed to exist in fiction, not in the real world and certainly not on his college campus.  

So he had to get away from Chris for the night. Which brought Harry to where he was now: aimlessly wandering in the opposite direction of campus, towards the downtown area.

 

It was only a fifteen minute walk from where he lived and he never minded it, liked the way campus bled into suburbia. The sidewalks-- made of bricks that were now slightly discolored and displaced by tree roots-- accompanied the charming old homes, making for pleasant scenery even in the dark.  He let himself wander past the pizza shop and a few upscale restaurants until he made it to the main crawl, consisting mainly of Irish pubs, upscale restaurants, and boutiques that were closed by this hour. 

There really hadn’t been a destination in mind, and with no fake ID, the chance of getting into any of the bars lining the streets were slim. But just being outside seemed to help clear his head. Buzzed bar-goers helped to generate a liveliness to the town, a sight complemented by the warm glow of the street lamps and added color from the bars’ neon signs. In this moment, his little  college town was picturesque but there was something so confining about it. Everything anyone would ever want was right here, presented in a neat, little package. And Harry’s own lack of interest in anything it had to offer scared him. It didn’t feel right for an aspiring writer to go through life so impartial. Everyone kept telling him this was the best time of his life but he didn’t even feel like he was participating in it. Calling this a depression felt so heavy, so he preferred to think of it a life stalemate, which didn’t sound much better. He suddenly felt suffocated the people around him, all able to be out and carefree, able to speak impulsively and act impulsively in a way he didn’t feel inspired to. 

But he wanted to and figured he should try. His next move was done out of spite, for every previous, stifling thought tonight. He walked across the street to  _ X-treme Tattoo _ , a hole-in-the-wall tattoo parlor, with the added incentive of proving a point to himself. There were two tattoo artists behind the counter when he walked in-- one that looked to be an involved floral design on the back of a woman’s leg, the other leaning against the counter with a magazine in hand, watching the other’s work. 

Harry cleared his throat. The man looked up. 

“I’ll be with you in just one second,” he said. Harry nodded and took a seat.

Aside from the woman getting her leg done, he was the only other person here. The man, however, seemed to be in no rush, mindlessly flipping through his catalogue as Harry waited.  The shop was small with posters on each wall of the artist's’ work and possible designs, so it was as he was scanning the walls for inspiration, the door behind him opened. 

“Please tell me you guys aren’t closing just yet,” a giggling, out of breath, blond said. It was the Irish accent, something unusual for the area, that made Harry turn his head. 

“We’re open for another hour,” the one artist replied, not taking his eyes off his work. 

“Oh, thank God. My friend will be in any moment”.

As if on cue, a 5-person crowd stepped into the shop. 

“C’mon, Lou. I won the bet fair and square.” The first one in looked like he could’ve been a model; dark tousled hair, disheveled yet devastatingly handsome, made complete with tattoos that seemed to cover his arms. On said arm was an equally attractive blonde woman, laughing in response to what he said. 

The next two appeared to be on the same page, both rolling their eyes at their friends. The one-- a tall, slender, brunette girl with innocent features-- whispered something to the other-- a more built, brown haired man with puppy dog eyes-- that caused both of them to laugh.

“Everyone knows the only reason that you won the bet was because you always cheat.” The man that followed made a show of entering the building, dragging his feet against the floor, throwing his head back in unison with his eyeroll. The first thing Harry noticed was that he was gorgeous. The second was that he was loud. But something about his presence felt magnetic to a point where Harry couldn’t look away (despite his best manners). 

“Oh for God’s sake, Louis,” there was surprisingly no hint of annoyance in the brunette’s voice when she spoke, which told Harry that this was typical for the man. 

“What?” he crossed his arms in front of his chest like an upset child. “It’s true.”

“Louis, I think you’re thinking of yourself again,” said the Irishman. 

“Oh, shut up, Niall,” he said and pushed the boy’s shoulder. 

The tattoo artist didn’t seem phased by the antics. “If you all will just have a seat, I’ll be with you in one moment.” They all complied.

“What are you getting?” Harry was caught completely off guard by the the blue eyed man sitting next to him. He’d spent the last few minutes pretending to be busy on his phone just to avoid openly staring at the group. He couldn’t be blamed, though; it was the most interesting scene he’d witnessed since the school year began.

“Um, I’m not sure yet”. Harry wished so desperately that he’d thought this plan out a little further to avoid sounding like a complete idiot. 

The stranger just laughed. “I love the spontaneity. Is this your first?”

“Yeah, but I’ve always wanted one”. 

“I never thought I wanted any more than one or two, but it’s addicting. Be careful,” he joked. 

“What are you getting?” Harry asked. The other five snickered while the man next to him let out a loud, open laugh. 

“A penguin with headphones. On my ass.” Harry’s look must have said it all because he continued, “I lost a bet.”

“Do I even want to know what the bet was?” 

“Probably not,” the man smiled. “Louis, by the way.” Louis extended out his hand, which Harry eagerly accepted. 

“I’m Harry.” 

And just like that, Louis resumed as if they had been friends for years. “Well, Harry, we’ve got to figure out what you’re going to get. Do you know  _ where _ you want it?”

“I was thinking maybe my arm.” He tried to sound as decisive as possible but it was an answer he’d thought up on the spot. 

“Nice! Now I’d ask Zayn if he had any ideas for you, but he’s the genius who came up with penguin-”

“You know I’m sitting right next to you,” Zayn muttered.

“-so we’ll just have to brainstorm together.” 

“You know, if he’s bothering you, you can just tell him to fuck off,” the brunette girl said. 

“Would you stop, El. I’m helping him,” Louis said at the same time Harry added, “It’s fine, really.” 

“Ignore Eleanor,” Louis said, turning back to Harry. “In fact, ignore them all. They’ve been conspiracizing against me all night.”

They all simultaneously rolled their eyes. 

“Don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want,” the blonde added before turning her attention back to her phone. 

“I would never use my powers of persuasion for evil.”

“Harry, all of us here can attest to that  _ not  _ being true. Listen to him at your own risk,” Eleanor warned. 

It was the fond glances and smirks that reassured Harry that the teasing was all in good fun. The warnings fell empty with their light tone, and he could tell that despite what they said, they adored Louis. It all made Harry even more intrigued by their dynamic that he’d somehow been temporarily invited in on.

“What was your first tattoo?” Harry asked. 

Louis rolled up the sleeve showcasing a collection of little tattoos, each one different from the other; some large, detailed pieces and others small notebook-esque doodles. He pointed to the one,a stick figure on a skateboard. “My buddy Zayn over here,” he said, pointing to the man two seats down. Zayn waved in response. “He did this one back in high school.” 

Harry smiled down at the simplistic design. “Any reason you decided on that?”

“Not really, which was almost better. I just wanted the first one to be over with so I could stop stressing about it, you know.” 

Harry didn’t know but he nodded anyway. 

“We decided on something stupid to take the pressure off. It was a stick-and-poke we did in his basement. Not much of a story but it was the catalyst for the rest of them.” 

“I probably gave him three more just that week,” Zayn added. 

“Yeah, I don’t know why I didn’t wait until you got yourself a real tattoo gun.” 

“So have you all known each other since high school? Or did you meet here at school?” Harry asked. 

“Oh, we don’t go to school around here-” 

“We’re not in school at all,” Eleanor corrected. 

“-But yeah, Zayn, Eleanor, and I were friends in high school.”

Eleanor threw an arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “We’ve  _ actually _ known each other since middle school but Louis likes to pretend those three years never happened.” 

“And they didn’t if I don’t acknowledge them.” 

“That’s a really impressive amount of time to be dating someone.” He was happy for these strangers, he really was, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang of loneliness. He never minded being single. He, in fact, has preferred it to any of his previous, short-lived relationships. But he could also imagine what it could be like to be with someone, someone there that would _know_ him, someone he’d never have to explain himself to. So this uncharacteristic jealousy didn’t surprise him. 

Their reaction, however, surprised him. Eleanor threw her head back, laughing, and looked to be on the verge of tears. Louis was in a similar state, though trying to hold it together a bit better. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Louis tried to reassure through his is laughter. “It’s just that we’re not dating.”

“Never have and never will,” Eleanor explained, catching her breath. “We’re both gay. Like really gay.”

“Oh. I’m so… I didn’t mean to…”, Harry fumbled for the right words, something he always prided himself in  _ not  _ doing. He usually didn’t mind if he used the wrong words or said the wrong thing, could always take any joke or embarrassment that followed. It was the kind of confidence in yourself that came from genuinely not caring about what anyone thought. But it was different with these guys. But for some reason he did care this time. He wanted them to continue to want to talk to him. Their sudden and startling presence had been the highlight of his day, maybe even his whole first week back.

“It’s okay. Gigi made the same mistake when she first met them,” Zayn said. 

Gigi just shrugged. “It’s their fault anything for always hanging all over. It’s an easy mistake to make.”

“But I love girls!” Eleanor shouted, throwing herself back on the chair. 

“And she’s not even drunk yet,” the man, who seemed like the only sensible one in the ragtag group, mumbled under his breath. This did not go unheard.

“Hey!” She hit him in the arm. 

“Ow!”

“I’m allowed to be passionate,” she explained to no one in particular. “There’s a lot to be excited about: the existence of women, our show tonight, the dumb penguin Louis is getting tattooed on his ass in a few minutes.”

Louis groaned.

“Do you think it’ll hurt when he goes to the bathroom?”

“Niall, please don’t speak so crudely of me while I’m sitting right across from you.”

“Okay, but back to our show tonight; what time do we have to get back?” Gigi asked. 

Eleanor checked her watch. “We’re on in about an hour. We need to head back to the bar but I don’t trust Louis here unsupervised,” she said, standing up and adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. 

“I vote Liam; he’s most responsible.”

“I’m starting to take that as an insult,” Liam, presumably, said. “And I feel like Louis listens to me the least.” 

“That’s not true, Li. I respect you plenty.” Something in the tone Louis spoke left Harry under the impression that that statement wasn’t necessarily true. 

The rest of the group stood up and followed Eleanor. 

“Make sure he doesn’t chicken out. Or else,” Zayn warned. 

Liam held three fingers up. “Boy scouts honor.” 

“Of course you were a boy scout,” Eleanor muttered and was out the door, the rest of the gang trailing behind her. 

Just then, the man behind the counter came over to Harry, clipboard and pen in hand. “I’m going to need you to fill out these forms. Do you have a valid ID?”  
Fishing out his wallet, Harry found and presented his driver’s license. 

“I’m going to scan this. Just bring the clipboard when you’re done and come on back.”

“Have you thought anymore about what you might want to get?” Louis asked. 

“Not one bit.” 

“Well my only advice would be not to get your current girlfriend’s face tattoo on your arm.” 

“Oh come on, Lou. He’s not even here to defend himself,” Liam reprimanded. 

“Uh oh.” Harry couldn’t conceal his dimpled grin. 

“He’s not here so we can  _ definitely _ make fun of him,” Louis stuck his tongue out at Liam. “So basically Zayn has a lovely portrait of a girl he hasn’t spoken to in three years situated on his upper arm. We think that’s why he’s only dated blondes since; so he can pretend it’s them.” 

Liam rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk about stupid tattoos. Shall I remind you what we’re here for?”

“Oh, Liam, always a spoilsport.” 

“I just finished filling out these forms and I have no idea what I’m doing.” Harry stared, wide-eyed, down at the paper. 

“At this rate, own your impulsivity and pick the first thing you see on one of these posters. At least you’ll have a sick story to go with it,” Louis encouraged. 

“Harry?” called the tattoo artist. “Come on back.” Harry stood up, shooting Louis a nervous smile. Louis gave him a thumbs up in support. 

And that’s how Harry ended up with an outline of a star on the inside of his upper arm. 

 

He meant to pay and walk right out of there. He figured, even if he went directly to bed after this, he still  succeeded in what he set out to accomplish tonight and even got a funny story to tell out of it. But Liam wanted to see the tattoo and an insistent Louis, laying face down, pants around his mid-thigh, on the table, pleaded with him to wait around for a couple of minutes until he was done, so he could see it as well. And who was Harry to deny him?

“Oh, such a good choice,” Louis complimented. Harry brightened up at his praise. 

“Can I see your’s?” 

“Is this your cheeky way of getting me out of my pants?” he asked, adding in a wink. 

Harry blushed. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean-” It was an exceptional feat for someone to have rendered him speechless twice in one night . 

“It’s okay, Harry. I’m only teasing.” 

“Lou, it’s almost 11. We’re going to be so late,” Liam groaned. 

“Relax. It’s a casual affair. If we start at 11:30, no one’s going to be upset.” 

“I trust you can pay for this and find your way to this place on your own.” 

“Yeah, and I’ve even learned to tie my shoes all on my own too,” Louis teased. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up in a couple of minutes.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Harry,” Liam extended his hand, which Harry graciously accepted despite being caught off guard of the formality of it all. He guessed that was just Liam. 

“You too,” he smiled.

He gave a final quick wave and was out the door. 

“So what’s this big thing you guys have to get to at 11?” Harry asked and Louis was signing the receipt. 

“Our band’s show. You should come!” Louis quickly added, “Only if you want to.” 

Harry never would have guess this was how his night was going to turn out. But he’d actually gotten a tattoo on a whim, met the single-most intriguing group of friends, and got invited to their concert all in the span of the hour. These were the kind of adventures he’d been waiting for these last two years. So why on Earth wouldn’t he continue with his trend of impulsivity. “I would love to,” Harry smiled. 

The lovely thing about August was how even the nights stayed warm. There was a slight breeze and not a cloud in the sky, making it, Harry thought, almost a perfect night. The show was at a small bar only a few blocks away and Harry and Louis walked with a companionable chatter, discussions from all-time favorite albums to the worst songs ever written.

“I can’t believe you’re defending Jefferson Airplane’s decision to become Jefferson Starship,” Louis gasped. “Have you no shame?”

“Are you telling me you don’t sing along every time We Built This City comes on?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Harry!”

“We have to change the subject before this gets ugly,” he joked. “So what’s your role in the band?”

“Guess,” Louis insisted. 

“Lead singer?”

“Why’d you guess that?”

“They like all the attention.” Harry gave him a cheeky grin. 

Louis playfully hit him over the shoulder. “Oh, you think you’re real funny.” There was no edge to his voice. The whole thing felt so surreal to Harry, to have this kind of easy banter with someone you only met an hour ago. Right away, they had just simply clicked; Louis and his energetic, unreserved nature, and Harry, with his open and earnest disposition.   

“Was I right, at least?” Harry asked. 

“I do sing but mostly back-up vocals. I’m actually on guitar.”

“I could see that. Guitarists are pretty egotistical too,” Harry joked.  

Louis shook his head. “ So I feel like I’ve already told my life story to you and have nothing to show for it. Tell me about yourself. All I know is your name’s Harry and you’ve got a giant star on your arm.” 

“There’s not much to tell,” Harry shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“Tragic background? Dreams and aspirations? Life plans?”  

Harry chuckled and wondered if Louis always spoke in such a spectacular manner, like his words could be dialogue in a script. 

“I guess we could start small. Major?”

“Guess,” Harry teased. He felt so dull compared to Louis and his boisterous life. He didn’t want to admit how he spent his life, all while Louis was off living like someone Jack Kerouac could write a story about. 

“Hmmm,” Louis contemplated. “You seem kind of uptight.” Harry frowned so Louis quickly added, “I don’t mean that as an insult. Maybe uptight was the wrong word. Disciplined?” Louis kept floundering and Harry enjoyed watching the tables turn. “I just mean that you seem like you don’t get into a lot of trouble. Anyway, your parents were strict and made you practice at the piano up to six hours a day, which is why you resent your piano performance major. I know you love music so you’re probably good at the piano and you know you’re good at it. Because it’s one of the only things you’ve known all your life, you’ve stuck with it. Your lack of true love for the art, however, is why you’re at a state school and not at Juilliard or Berklee or something. Your true love is photography, and the Joy Division t-shirt that you’re currently wearing leads me to believe that you take your photos on a polaroid camera. You’ve thought about adding a photography minor but when you bring it up to your parents they don’t say anything but by their expression you can tell they disapprove of it. Your desire to please everyone comes from never being able to please them. So your fingers flit around the keys day in and out, knowing this will probably only amount to an underpaid music education career.” 

Harry blinked. “I’ve never touched a piano in my life.” 

Louis was immediately in stitches, helplessly bent over in a fit of laughter. “Please tell me I’m at least right about the photography.”

“Wrong creative vice,” he snickered. “I prefer writing”

“Goddammit!” His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were watering, and in that moment, Harry almost wished he was a photographer just so he could capture Louis in this moment. 

“After that speech, though, I feel like you probably deserve the writer title more than me.”

“Well, I do write,” Louis said, uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. 

“Stories?” Harry dreaded the thought that after tonight, he might not see Louis ever again, because he wanted more than anything to read these stories. He wanted more than anything just to know Louis better and be apart of this world he’s seemed to create for himself. 

“Songs, actually.” 

“Will I hear any of them tonight?”

“I did the last one in our set,” he confirmed. 

“I can’t wait,” Harry beamed.

 

It was a little after 11 when the two of them finally arrived at the bar.  _ Jake’s _ \-- which would be classified as more of a  _ dive  _ bar-- looked to be the hangout for every semi-alternative grad student, with it’s smoky atmosphere and eclectic decor. Harry had forgot to even consider that he might not be able to get into the show, being only 20, but before the bouncer could ask to see his ID, Eleanor came in and averted the problem. 

“Where the hell have you two been? We’re on in ten minutes!” She grabbed both of them, pulling them in by their wrists, and the bouncer just nodded they walked in. 

She stormed ahead of them to finish setting up. Louis guided Harry back towards the makeshift stage, an arm slung over his shoulder. Even with the loud, drunk chatter and even louder music, Harry relaxed into the older boy’s touch. It was his first time out for the semester (he was choosing not to count Alexa’s first-night-back gathering, where he had left after the first 20 minutes). Furthermore, it was his first official time out in a bar and was already enjoying it more than any frat party he’d been too. The whole thing seemed to have more of a purpose; while frat parties seemed like a thinly veiled way to get shit-faced and take advantage of equally obliterated sorority girls, the scene at Jake’s was everything Harry wanted a night out to be. People were dancing-- not just aimlessly grinding in a dingy basement-- to music outside of the realm of the tired, top-40 hits. As he and Louis walked passed tables, the patrons looked to be in an easy conversation with the table next to them, a stark difference to the way cliques remain closed off in their own groups to whole night. He never felt like he belonged there, but maybe it wasn’t that Harry didn’t belong there, so much as it was that Harry belonged  _ here _ . 

“I’m going to grab a drink,” Louis said, ending Harry’s train of thought. “Do you want anything?”

“Sure. I’ll just have whatever you’re having.” 

He disappeared towards the bar, leaving Harry standing off to the side, in front of the stage. 

“I see Louis roped you into coming to the show.” 

Harry looked up to see Zayn messing with some of the cords attached to the speaker. 

“Do you need any help with those?” Harry asked. 

“Would you even know what to do if I said yes?”

Harry blushed and Zayn threw him a knowing look. 

“It seemed like the polite thing to say,” he reasoned. 

“Actually, if you wanted to help,” Zayn waved him on to the stage. “Just speak into the mic. I’m trying to get the volume just right.”

He stepped up onto the stage and started counting off into the mic, _ 1, 2, 3… _ , as Zayn fiddled with the volume. 

“See,” Gigi said as she and Louis reappeared together, drinks in hand. “This is what happens when you show up late, Louis. We’ve found a replacement.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Louis objected. “Harry and I arrived at the same time!” 

“And he’s already doing a better job at following direction than you ever have,” Zayn pointed out.  

“I think I like him better,” Gigi added. “He’s cuter.” 

“I don’t have to defend my cuteness to you. My cute demeanor is what lured your new member in anyway,” Louis crossed his arms. 

“My decision wasn’t swayed by how cute you were.” Harry’s voice boomed from through the bar, making all the patrons turn their heads in the direction of the stage. The heat rose to Harry’s face, as he backed away from the microphone. “I’m here by my own accord.” 

“So you admit that I’m cute, at least?”

“I feel like that’s a bit presumptuous,” Harry teased.

Louis threw a mock-offended look, placing his hand over his heart. 

“Enough flirting,” Eleanor appeared. They didn’t even have a chance to defend themselves before she thrusted Louis’ guitar in his arms. “Get in your places everyone.”

Louis took a swig from his beer before handing the two bottles over to Harry, and followed the others. 

“Good luck, guys,” Harry called after them. 

Louis shot him an earnest smile before taking the stage.

“Hi,” Zayn’s voice was slightly lower and softer than when Harry had spoken to him just minutes ago. “We’re Night Changes.” 

Harry watched the group click into place by what seemed to be a gravitational pull towards their respective instruments. Their first song began unassuming, a steady, synthesized beat which built into something equally dreamier and moodier when Eleanor added her vocals. Their sound was atmospheric and acted harmoniously with the bar’s environment. Each member seamlessly transformed into their role; Niall at his drums with his sticks becoming an extension of his own arms, Liam holding down the right corner of the stage with his keyboard-synthesizer, Zayn and Eleanor commanding center stage at the microphone with the addition of a bass guitar for Eleanor. But it was Louis that Harry was most captivated by. Seeing him play, there wasn’t a doubt that Louis was meant for this; he was born to be on stage, colored by the softening fog of the stage lights. His repeated guitar riff carried the song in the same way his presence carried the band. Even with all the lighthearted teasing and casually brash remarks, it was plain to Harry, who had only known them for a few hours, that he was not only integral to the group, but openly adored by them. This came as no surprise to Harry, who was already felt trapped in his inexplicable charm.

From this distance in the audience, it was like Harry could see them all clearly for the first time since being drawn to them; not as their individual personalities, but unified by the dream-like air they’ve created. They became synonymous with whatever he was missing before they stumbled into the shop and knocked his night off of its original track. And he wanted nothing more than to never feel that loss again. 


End file.
